


Better Creatures

by lawofavgs



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Casting Spoilers for 1x10, F/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 16:11:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8759974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lawofavgs/pseuds/lawofavgs
Summary: They can try to ignore what happened all they like. No amount of denial will erase what happened that August night outside of Boardner's (what almost happened, what didn't happen, what could have happened)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Bawson Sinning Saturdays! A little late, but it's still Sunday on the west coast!

Things are, well…awkward seems like too weak a word.

Tense as fuck. Earth-shifting. Walking on crates of dynamite while juggling lit torches.

Mike’s not sure how to deal with the fallout of their near-kiss, so he shuts down. He avoids unnecessary eye contact or small talk with Ginny, stops calling or checking in with her. It’s too much. Everything is too much to handle and there’s an instinct in him to protect them both.

He spends a lot of time thinking about the almosts and the maybes. He’s kept awake by the coulda, woulda, shouldas. If he had turned his phone off or ignored her plea to answer it when Oscar called. If he hadn’t stumbled and stuttered over his words before cracking a joke to lighten the mood. If he hadn’t waited for her to take the lead.

If he hadn’t called her out to the bar at all, and they wouldn’t be in this goddamn mess.

So when Rachel shows up on his doorstep, left hand bare, offering him a second chance, he takes it. He loves her, right? Wanted this for awhile? If the universe wants to send him this big a sign, he won’t be dumb enough to ignore it.

He takes the second chance he gets, because this is where his puzzle piece should belong.

He tries to make it work this time around, because he’ll end up alone if he doesn’t.

He stays, because he’s a stubborn son of a bitch, and the words “you only want what you can’t have” keep rolling around his head like loose marbles.

In the end, they last 3 months. He may not be in love with Rachel anymore, but he does love and care for her. She deserves more than a man who dreams about the near-brush of another woman’s lips. Who still feels the phantom itch of a riotous curl running over his forehead.

They’ll never darken each other’s door again.

Mike will accept a lifetime of loneliness as his punishment.

 

~*~

 

A Mack truck to the chest. That’s the only way Ginny can describe the feeling.

When they avoid each other’s glances. When conversation never strays from baseball. When her phone lights up and it’s not Mike’s name.

When she thinks about that night back in August outside Boardner’s bar.

She can still remember the smell of his cologne and the feel of his muscles under her hand, the warmth seeping through his dress shirt. Just the memory slams into her and leaves her breathless.

In comparison, the gentle exploration of Noah’s reverent hands give her butterflies. Weak butterflies, but at least they leave her standing. They don’t shake her foundation to its core.

Noah is sweet and caring and driven. He’s smart and doesn’t expect anything from Ginny Baker the Brand. It’s easy and comfortable and a way to forget, even momentarily, the same 30 seconds that keep looping in her head.

She tells herself that the feelings are so strong because they’re forbidden. Knows it’s a lie but repeats the excuse anyways. Stays with Noah because what else is she going to do?

In the end, it’s the most innocuous thing that shatters the illusion.

Noah offers her a bite of his pasta, grinning from ear-to-ear in anticipation. She accepts the forkful, sputtering inelegantly as the taste of soap settles on her tongue. Forcing it down with a glass of water, she meets his confused stare sheepishly.

“Cilantro?” she coughs out, downing another swig of water.

His eyes grow wide, worried. “You’re not allergic, are you?”

It was such a minor factoid, a comment she had made in passing during one of their dinner dates. Not allergic, just not a fan. It wasn’t like she knew his dietary do’s and don’ts.

Except she had a scene playing over and over in her mind. Overhearing Mike at a food truck, ordering her a taco and repeating to the poor kid at the cash three times, “no cilantro.”

She ends it with Noah, accepting the fact that the lies weren’t working anymore. What was once easy had now become weighted and suffocating.

It’s fine. She’s always been able to handle alone.

 

~*~

 

When spring training starts, they’re less awkward and more cautious.

By the time the regular season starts, the uneasy truce becomes easy.

He tries to be careful with how he lets her in, but it’s no use. She’s still the woman that got under his skin and into his head and heart in three short months. Memories of her closeness still haunt him if he slows his mind down for too long.

It’s a near car accident that finally rattles him out of his emotional lockdown. It’s so stupid and cliché, a truck crossing the center line and nearly hitting his car head-on before both vehicles managed to swerve out of the collusion course they were on.

He’s shaking on the side of the road, eyes screwed shut and fingers clenching the steering wheel.

And he’s fucking done pretending.

He’s at her apartment before he can talk himself out of it. He’s tired of skirting around this, of holding up the reasons why they can’t do this like a shield.

Pounding on her door, Ginny seems marginally surprised when she answers. He steps into her, close but not touching. There are no speeches he can think to deliver. If she wants this, if she’s willing to take this risk, all she has to do is close the distance. Just as he did that night all those months back, he gives her the control.

And she takes it, stepping into him and touching her lips to his with a sigh. Finally, _finally_ , he has more than the memory of almost and the fantasy of what could have been. He knows what it feels like to have Ginny Baker pressed against him, fitting perfectly against the bulk of his body. With dwindling higher brain function, he manages to move them both into her apartment, slamming the door shut behind him.

It’s not that they should be doing this (they shouldn’t), he just can’t get himself to care. He doesn’t care that this is against the rules. He doesn’t care that he may not be good enough for her. He does know, however, that no one can love her like he does.

The idea of love strikes him hard, yet doesn’t scare him.

He walks them backwards through her bedroom doorway, not stopping until he lays her out in the middle of her bed. She sits up in the small amount of space he allows her, pulling off her tank top before yanking at his shirt. Impatient fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt before she huffs, ripping the damn thing open. The sound of buttons plinking against her floor is drowned out by his chuckles.

His laughter dies in his throat as he takes her in, warm skin bare under his gaze. He swallows hard, jaw clenching reflexively. How he got lucky enough to be here, to be the one allowed to see her like this, he’ll never know. Lord knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he’ll make this good for her. He’ll make himself worthy of this – of her – if it’s the last thing he does.

He runs his tongue up her stomach, pausing to suck marks into her skin like the possessive asshole he’s suddenly become around her. He palms her breast, his gaze fixed on her face as she bites her bottom lip. He wants to hear her. He wants her husky voice and moans loud enough to annoy the neighbours. So he pinches her pebbled nipple, swirling his tongue around the neglected one.

“Mike!” she shouts, arousal and desperation evident in her voice. It’s the sexiest sound he’s ever heard and he needs more.

He situates himself between her legs, abandoning her breasts to yank her leggings and underwear down and off. Moving back up, he grazes his knuckle through her wet folds, groaning out a curse at the feel of her. Her hips roll up, chasing his ministrations and wordlessly seeking more.

That wouldn’t do.

“Do you want me to taste you Ginny? I can slip my fingers into your wet pussy, lick your clit until your screaming my name. Do you want that?”

He watches her head tip back, chest rising and falling quickly in response. She nods, one hand working over her own breast.

“Say it Gin. Say you want me to go down on you,” he presses, voice thick with his arousal.

“Please, Mike – fuck. Go down on me. I need to feel you,” she complies as she buries her fingers in his hair.

As promised, he lowers his face between her legs, collecting the taste of her on his tongue before zeroing in on the bundle of nerves just begging for his attention. He flicks it with his tongue, settling into a pattern that has Ginny moaning into her forearm. Mike reaches for her wrist, moving it away from her mouth. He needs to hear her, all of her. Wants to know which moves get the loudest reaction so he can file the knowledge away.

He can feel the muscles in her legs shake as her whimpers get louder and he knows she’s close. Running his chin over her, he gives one last suck to her clit before she quakes under him, his name damn near echoing off the walls as she comes.

She yanks him up by his hair, the pain dulled by the pleasure and hey, maybe this is a thing for him. Or maybe anything Ginny does is officially a thing for him. He shucks his pants and boxers off, his cock bobbing with the movements. She reaches out from under him, awkwardly fumbling through her bedside drawer for a foil packet and handing it to him. He doesn’t miss the way her eyes comb over him, making him feel like the biggest fucking stud in the world.

By the time he’s got the condom on, he’s practically shaking. Air catches in his chest as he works for every breath. This is happening. This is real, not a dream or a fantasy of what might have been if things played out differently.

He slides in slowly, muscles taught as he holds himself back. His entire world shrinks down to this, to them, to their connection. He barely registers the words he’s mumbling over and over into her neck.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

He starts to move, easy at first before ramping up in intensity and speed. Her moans spur him on as his fingers find her clit. Next time, he wants her on top of him, but for now he wants to control this. He wants to learn her body and fuck her hard and leave a new memory in place of the almosts of their past.

Ginny hikes her leg up his side, burrowing her face against his shoulder as she clings desperately to his back. God, he hopes there are marks left behind.

“Mike, I’m gonna…oh god yesyesyes!”

There are a million and one filthy things he wants to say, but the feel of her contracting around him snaps that last link to his brain and all he’s capable of doing is thrusting over and over until that familiar tightening feeling takes over. With a groan, he spills into the condom, dropping desperate kisses over Ginny’s face.

With the last bit of strength he has left, he disposes of the latex before flopping back at her side, pulling her into him.

He’s just about to fall asleep when her soft voice cuts through the fog. “Hey…Lawson.”

“Mmm, sleep rookie.”

Silence, then: “I love you, too.”

Yeah, he’s gonna love the hell out of this woman.


End file.
